I call it my Poop Run. It’s not what you’re thinking.
It is that run on the mountains that leaves me, well, pooped … tuckered out … lollygagging.
And that feeling generally hits during the run.
Hence, poop run.
Tuesday was a poop run.
For some reason I decided I could catch a group of running buddies on Blackerby Ridge.
These running buddies included a number of established mountain professionals and one high school superhuman.
And two dogs, with four legs each — unfair advantage.